Restless Night
by RoxasSerenity
Summary: Post The Witch's Familiar. Both TARDIS occupants are having difficulty sleeping, Clara finds the Doctor in the library swimming pool. Starts a bit angsty but gets fluffy cause the last episode killed my feels and who doesnt like fluff? Whouffaldi fluff


_This idea has kind of bouncing around my head for a while, well the Doctor's part has anyway, the rest I literally wrote on the fly. I just needed to write something fluffy cause between Face the Raven and my tumblr dash, my feels have taken somewhat of a beating. And apparently it's only going to get worse. This is another post-The Witch's Familiar story basically cause can. I literally didnt know which ep it should fall after but this one seemed the most appropriate for some reason._

 _I havent proofread or spell-checked this as its late and my eyes are going a bit blurry but I wanted to finish this and post it cause if I didnt finish it it one sitting, I probably wouldnt finish it at all and I like this._

 _I do not own any aspect of Doctor Who, it belongs to the BBC, I'm just borrowing them to relieve my feels. I've heard things about this weeks episode so I'll need all the fluff I can get._

 _Post- The Witch's Familiar so spoilers for that. If you havent seen it, what are doing here? Go watch it. For everyone else, enjoy :)_

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He hadn't meant for any of it to happen. He'd run from Skaro, hidden without fully explaining the situation on Karn, handed over his confession dial and attempted to meditate in 1138 Essex, only to end up throwing himself a three week goodbye party instead (he really should go back and pick up that tank). He should have known from the start when he'd passed on his confession dial. He should have known Missy would try to find him, and upon failing, turn to the one person who could.

He thought he was going to die. He was _supposed_ to die. Saving Gallifrey was one thing, but his entire existence after Trenzalore was damaging the time-space continuum with every passing day. He just never expected them to show up. Missy and her. _Clara_. The stadium was crowded, but her face was the only one he'd _wanted_ to see. _Clara, Clara, Clara._

Of course she'd found him. When didnt she? She was born to save him. She wasn't supposed to die at the hands of a Dalek. She hadn't of course thanks to Missy and her vortex manipulator, but that wasn't the point. She _could_ have, _twice,_ once by his own hand. Ironic really. Missy had saved her, then turned on both of them by convincing him that she was dead and the Dalek housing her was actually the one that killed her.

He _really_ didnt want to think about it. Clara was safe, sleeping away the horrors that they had both endured. He'd spent the past few hours trying to keep his mind occupied with console maintenance until he's made the same mistake with the wiring three times and the TARDIS has purposely thrown sparks at him. The fourth time, she'd electrocuted him and he'd give up with a heavy sigh.

He needed sleep. Badly. Every time he closed his eyes, he'd hear her scream before disappearing in a flash of blue light. No matter how many times he tried to reassure himself that she was safe, the image was burned into the back of his brain, playing mercilessly until he'd jumped from his chair and gone for a wonder to the library, stopping by her bedroom door, poking his head through to physically remind him that she was there, she was alive and safe.

Reading hadn't helped either. His eyes had skimmed over the same page for twenty minutes before he realised he didn't actually know what book he'd picked up to start with. _Pride and Prejudice,_ signed at the front as property of Clara Oswald. He scowled at the neat handwriting, as though the letters themselves had offended him. He placed it on the coffee table where he'd picked it up from, followed by more sighing as he stared aimlessly at the large swimming pool. There were multiple libraries in the TARDIS, he never could walk passed a good book shop no matter what face he was wearing, yet he always seemed to find himself in this one. Maybe a quick swim would help him rest.

Despite having been wearing the same clothes for the past three weeks, he still hadn't changed, clothes plastered in dust, grime and bits of decaying Dalek. The chlorine would probably bleach the hell out of his plaid trousers, but leaving to find suitable swimming attire seemed like more effort than he could be bothered with, toeing off his boots without even attempting to untie his laces, socks in boots, hoodie and jacket left in a heap on the chair, bits and bobs from his pockets left on top of them, rings placed carefully on top of the book on the table. He padded over to the pool edge, briefly contemplating just letting himself in, before deciding it was a terrible idea and sitting down, legs dangling in the water. The TARDIS always knew the ideal temperature. He wiggled his toes, feeling the liquid flow freely between them. After the hell he'd put his feet through, especially in the last 24 hours, it felt nice to let them float aimlessly for a moment before lowing himself in slowly. Even clad in just his t-shirts and trousers his body felt heavy, but he pushed away from the side regardless, carrying himself to the middle in a lazy breast stroke. For a long moment he just stayed there, using his arms to keep himself afloat. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a large breath of air and stopped, letting the weigh of his clothes pull him below the surface, sinking lower and lower until he hit the bottom

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Clara had been tossing and turning, drifting into a light doze only to be woken every time by screams of _EXTERMINATE_ or the rage she had seen on the Doctor's face while he pointed the Dalek gun _at her_. They'd promised no more lies, but she'd said she was fine, not knowing who believed her less, him or herself. She'd wondered off for a long, preferably scolding hot, shower, only to stare vacantly at the wardrobe, collapse in a heap on the bed and hidden under the covers. She smelled like hell, Dalek gunk and building dust covered her clothes, yet she'd gotten as far as taking off her shoes before movement had no longer become an option. Her sleep was so light she'd heard the faint creak of her door, but couldnt bring herself to actually roll over. Then he'd left and suddenly the silence that had previously engulfed the room became too much. She tried, oh how she'd tried, but sleep refused to come. Throwing back the covers, she pushed against her screaming muscles and wondered into the corridor.

He wasn't in the console room, or even under it. She'd asked the TARDIS for a little help, the answer in the form of beeps and gurgles. There was something underlying the response, almost like the ship was concerned for her pilot so Clara didnt question the door to the library when magically appeared the she stepped back into the corridor. With a greatful tap on the wall and a silent thank you, she pushed through into the larger than should be physically possible library.

The chair he usually frequented was vacant, the only sign that he'd actually been there were his jackets, boots and a handful of miscellaneous objects. Approaching them slowly, she picked up his yellow yo-yo, rolling it between her hands, when someone took in a loud, rather audible gulp of air. She squeaked in surprise, letting the item fall to the floor and turning on the spot quick enough to make her head spin.

"Clara?"

"You scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry, I didn't know you were in here." She willed her heart to slow down, watching him circle his arms to keep his head above water. Moving closer to the edge, she could make out the white of his t-shirt. From the absence of trousers among his abandoned clothes, she assumed he was probably still wearing them.

"What were you even doing?" A hand came up, shaking the water from grey curls that were now plastered to his head and face, making them stick up in odd directions.

"I like to sit at the bottom. Helps me think."

"With your clothes on?"

"The extra weight helps keep me there."

"Fair enough." She contemplated taking off her leggings before throwing the thought away and sitting at the edge, letting her legs float aimlessly in the water the way he had only minutes before. There was a wiriness in her eyes that she was desperately trying to hide from him, evidence that she hadn't been sleeping as soundly as he'd thought when he'd poked his head around her door. He should have known. No matter how bad his day had been, she had to have been through hell, surrounded and being shot by Daleks, dealing with Missy who had then put her _inside_ a Dalek, then watching as the Time Lady convinced him to that she was dead. God, she must have been terrified. He'd scared her before, leaving her and Courtney on the moon to decide it and the Earth's future, but _this_?

He swam to her side, never once taking his eyes away from her, gripping the edge of the pool. He opened his mouth to say something, _anything,_ but no words would come. He closed it again, staring at her knee.

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault."

"You shouldn't have been there."

"My best friend thought he was going to die, where else was I going to be?" He stayed silent, unable to look at her. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I didn't want you to see me like that."

"Like what?" His body turned so he was facing the bookshelves, so he didnt have to look at her, crossing his arms on the edge.

"Last time I saw you, you were smiling. Not that malfunctioning smile you sometimes have, an actual, proper smile. I didn't want to take that away."

"Stupid old man." He felt her body slide into the water next to his, a hand on his shoulder forcing his to turn back toward her before two arms wrapped around his neck, pulling his chest against hers. The arm that had dropped back into the pool floated helplessly for a moment, uncertain what it was supposed to do, then carefully moving to sit on her back. "We promised each other, no more lies. If I hadn't been there, you might have died. Then where would I be? I wouldn't have known, then I would have hated you because I would have thought you'd just left me there. I can't lose you again."

He clung tighter, burying his face in her shoulder, willing himself not to do something stupid, like cry. She placed a gentle kiss on his temple, the way he used to for her, a small gesture he hadn't shared in such a long time. How had he thought he could do this without her? The woman who had lived a thousand lives, just to keep him safe.

Neither moved or said a word, content to be held by the other. Until Clara sneezed slightly into his shoulder. He couldnt help but chuckle slightly as he pulled away, just enough to see her face without losing contact on her body, a small but genuine smile on his lips.

"You could have asked me to get out you know?"

"Where's the fun in that?" She sneezed again.

"Alright Oswald, out you get. Don't want you catching a cold." Using both legs to keep himself afloat, both hands landed on her waist, lifting her up and on to the ledge. She had expected him to follow, only he pushed himself back towards the middle and ducked under again, his feet disappearing with a small splash. He reappeared moments later, sunglasses on his face and a goofy grin that she couldn't help but return.

"I'm not even gonna ask."

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The TARDIS had kindly provided towels, one of which Clara had immediately snatched up and starting furiously drying his hair until it fluffed back into what had recently become his normal hairstyle. He half-heartedly protested the entire time, insisting that he could manage perfectly fine on his own thank-you-very-much and she should really dry herself as she was the one at risk of catching a cold. When she didn't listen, he grabbed the other towel, wrapping it around her shoulders tightly, forcing her to let go of the one currently draped on his head. They'd parted ways to change out of there wet clothes, meeting back outside of her bedroom door to say good night. He'd given her a hug, surprisingly unwilling to part from her company just yet. It had been a hard day for both of them and he found himself almost craving her touch, even if only to reassure himself that she was really there, he wasn't going to wake up and discover that she had in fact died on Skaro, be it by the Daleks or his own hand. He needed her, now more than ever.

As if she could sense his hesitance to leave her side, she pulled back to look at him, taking his hand gently.

"Will you stay with me for a while? Even if it's just until I fall asleep. Please." _If you're there then maybe the dreams won't scare me._ She'd said it deliberately in her head, knowing that he would hear her through touch telepathy, even if she couldn't say it out loud. All he could manage was a nod and a gentle squeeze of her hand, not trusting himself to not blurt out something stupid and ruin the moment they were having. Neither spoke again, wordlessly entering the bedroom and laying down respectively on their own sides. They'd shared a bed before, following the aftermath of their first trip to Trenzalore, but he'd worn a different face at the time, then things had gotten complicated between them. If he were being honest with himself, it had been nearly a thousand years since he had held her, or anyone else for that matter, and he couldn't quite remember what he was supposed to do.

They both lay silently, listening to the other breath until she'd shifted closer, placing a hand between his hearts, her head on his shoulder. Out of habit his body froze, still not quite accustomed to physical contact. Yet it felt nice, _really_ nice. He hadn't realised up until that moment that he _missed_ this, having someone to hold on to. His arm had moved of it's own accord at some point, wrapping around her back, fingers drawing delicate patterns through the material of her tank top.

"Clara?"

"Yeah?" Her voice was already heavy as she was being lulled to sleep by the steady beats of his hearts.

"This is ok." She shifted slightly, head now resting over his left heart while her hand lay over his right. A noise of approval left her lips. As her mind began to drift on the edge of conciousness, she felt him place a gentle kiss on her brow.

"Good night my impossible girl."


End file.
